At Ease
by dancemagictv
Summary: Quiet self-reflection has never been Sonny Quinn's M.O. But sitting in the darkness of the jungle, clutching Clay in his arms, his mind wanders to places he wouldn't normally allow. Sonny has lost friends before. Teammates even. It's always been traumatic, but quick. Never like this. This slow, painful, inevitable crawl toward death. *Not a death fic*
1. Chapter 1

**This was originally posted on ao3 midway through season 2, so please forgive anything that may no longer be canon compliant. **

* * *

"I know, Clay. I know," Sonny soothes, grip tightening around the kid's chest. "Just try to relax. I've got you. I'm not leaving." The Texan grabs Clay's left hand and puts it on Cerberus' head. "Feel that? Cerb is here too." He feels Spenser's hand move sluggishly as he grips the dog's hair and hitches another painful gasp of air. Cerberus whines and shifts closer to the young SEAL, offering what comfort he can as he lies against Sonny's uninjured leg.

It's probably been about four hours that they've been here, with Clay propped against Sonny's chest, slowly bleeding out and losing his breath as putrid water flows around them. But it feels like four days.

Clay is dying. Sonny's able to acknowledge that now. At some point, his focus had begrudgingly shifted from saving Clay to making him comfortable. Making sure he knows he's loved and he isn't alone.

###

The mission goes to shit almost from the start. Whether it's bad intel or just bad luck, they don't really have much of a chance. They've been dropped in the dead of night a few klicks outside of a small dilapidated outpost in the Central American jungle to capture a warlord's 2IC and bring him back to Mandy alive.

ISR has been spotty from the beginning. They knew it would be. The thick overhead tree canopy means there isn't a clear view for those back at Havoc to offer much in the way of support. What they didn't know was that there would be so many enemy combatants.

They were expecting somewhere between 8 and 12.

What they get is probably upwards of 30.

The plan is for Jason, Ray, Brock, Cerberus and Trent to approach the compound from the south, ambushing the guards in the small clearing in front of the building and taking out anyone who gets in their way. Sonny and Clay move to the east, where they expect the HVT to squirt when the attack begins.

But as soon as the action starts, more and more hostiles begin pouring out of the cellar the SEALs didn't even realize was in use.

Jason has to call Bravo 3 and Bravo 6 off of the side of the building to assist with taking out the overwhelming force coming at the rest of the team. That means the two Bravo groups are shooting toward each other as much as at the enemy. Their elite training means their shots are clean; there isn't much danger of a friendly fire incident. But seeing their brothers being attacked certainly amps up the tension.

When it happens, it happens fast.

Clay is a few feet to Sonny's right, and a step or two ahead of him as they shoot at five men who have become aware of their presence and engaged them. The two Bravo operators are in a bit of a tight spot, backed up to the edge of an embankment that leads about 30 feet down to a small stream below.

Through their NODs they can see the rest of Bravo in the distance, engaging the bulk of the enemy, and all Sonny wants to do is take out these men so he can help the rest of his brothers.

Clay suddenly swivels to the right as he becomes aware of a new threat, but it's too late. The impact and force of the shots send Clay stumbling back into Sonny. The Texan hears Clay's grunt just before the younger man slams into him, and the momentum sends them tumbling together over the edge of the ravine.

The fall to the stream bed below isn't all that far in terms of distance, but it's just steep enough that there isn't much they can do to try to stop themselves. Sonny hears Clay curse and he hears barking and gunshots in the distance as he tumbles ass over teakettle toward the bottom.

Just before he comes to a stop, he hears it. A crack that anyone who has ever snapped a bone would instantly recognize, as it reverberates through his entire body. He has a split second to register the flash of pain in his right leg before he comes to a stop, sprawled on his back in the water, the embankment to his left.

Everything is dark, and he realizes he lost his helmet and his night vision in the fall.

He's not ashamed to admit that his first thought isn't Clay.

Sonny's training kicks in and he desperately scrambles for his weapon, anticipating shots to start raining down on them at any moment, and they're sitting ducks in this position.

But it doesn't happen.

With the exception of the continued fighting up above, he doesn't hear anything but his own labored breathing.

And _that_ is when his thoughts shift to Clay.

"Spenser?"

Nothing.

He feels disoriented in the dark and can't find his flashlight.

Can't see anything and can't shout for Clay for fear of drawing attention to their position, so he takes a breath, calms himself and takes stock of the situation.

His right leg is clearly broken just above the knee. He figures it's the adrenaline keeping him from really feeling the pain, but he can't move it.

At all.

He pulls his gloves off and runs his hand down his thigh. He's happy to find the thick fabric of his pant leg intact, but quickly pulls away when he feels the compound break underneath. Other than that, he seems to be in okay shape, with the exception of a pretty intense headache, which probably came from bouncing around after losing his helmet.

He's dismayed to discover that his radio is also gone.

The ground moves under his left leg and it takes his brain a moment to catch up and realize the ground isn't moving. The movement is coming from Clay, who Sonny is half sprawled on top of. He feels around a bit and is able to suss out that Clay is lying face down on the ground, with his head near Sonny's left hip.

Except they aren't really on the ground.

They're at the edge of the streambed.

And that means Clay's face is in the water.

Sonny heaves his body off of his teammate and scrambles to roll the younger man over.

It's only a few inches of water, but it's enough, and Clay comes up gasping and flailing. Gagging and coughing. He clearly doesn't have the strength or wherewithal to maneuver his own body, so Sonny does it for him, using touch alone to move Spenser into a position where he can expel the brackish water without aspirating.

"It's okay, Goldilocks, slow breaths."

Sonny hears Clay fighting his body's instinct to panic, instead trying to transition into sniper breathing. Slowly in, slowly out. Except he can't quite seem to manage it, and the small hitches in his breath that won't even out scare Sonny.

But what scares him even more is the blood. He can't see it, but he can smell it, which means there's a lot of it. And he can feel it, tacky on his hands where he clutches Clay's vest.

"Where were you hit?" he asks.

No reply.

"Clay! Answer me, damn it," he hisses, trying to remain quiet. "Where were you hit?"

"Chest? Side…" is the labored reply. "Sonny…hurts."

"Okay, hang on."

Without being able to see, Sonny has no way of knowing how serious Clay's injuries might be or how he might be able to help him. He pulls the younger man up against his left side and reaches for his head.

"I'm gonna take your helmet off, okay?"

"K."

When he unclasps the helmet, he feels the straining muscles in Clay's throat as he continues to struggle to breath.

"Just try to relax," he says, as he unclicks Clay's NODs from the helmet and raises them to his eyes. Except they're cracked and he can't see a damn thing.

He tries to turn Clay's helmet light on, but it's busted too.

"Fuck!"

Sonny closes his eyes and breathes.

Clay isn't doing much in the way of holding up his own weight, and every time he starts to lag more parallel to the ground, his breathing seems to get worse. Sonny doesn't want to remove the kid's kit and armor, afraid of leaving him unprotected if they're shot at. But he's afraid the weight of the equipment is making things worse for Clay.

He decides to take it off, and once it's gone, he knows it was the right decision.

"Better," Clay lets out on a sigh, though his breathing still doesn't sound right.

"Good. That's good, buddy."

Sonny grabs Clay's radio to contact Bravo 1 and Havoc, but it's dead. He slams it to the ground in frustration.

"Son of a bitch!"

They're tier one elite Navy SEALs for God's sake. How can their equipment possibly be so shitty that it can't stand up to a 30 foot fall?

Sonny's head throbs and his equilibrium spins, and he makes himself breathe deeply again.

A sudden rustling up the bank to their left puts Sonny on high alert. He raises his handgun, but frustratingly can't see a thing.

He hears a familiar yip and next thing he knows, he has a wet nose in his face.

"Oh Cerberus, ain't I glad to see you," Sonny lets out with relief, even though he can't really see him at all.

"Where's your papa, huh, boy?"

But Brock doesn't follow the dog down the slope.

Sonny can still hear the firefight up above, but it's moved farther and farther away. Which means the guys are still fully engaged in combat and certainly not coming to try to find their missing men any time soon.

He's not sure how Cerberus ended up here, but it comforts him to know the dog will be on alert for any danger. Sonny hates the jungle almost as much as he hates water. And he's not sure if being able to see would help or make his phobia worse. But he does know that Cerb will alert him to any trouble. Not that there's much he'd be able to do about it in their predicament.

Cerberus is nosing around Clay and whining and whimpering.

"Hey, boy," he hears Clay let out and feels him shift a bit to acknowledge the dog.

Cerberus has always seemed to have a special affinity for Clay. Not as much as Brock, obviously, but among the rest of the team, Cerb is most often found on Spenser's bunk or sitting next to him around the fire. Sonny can feel Clay's tension dissipate somewhat as he pets the dog.

"Okay, let's try to figure out the damage, huh?" Sonny says as he starts feeling around Clay's torso.

He finds a gunshot wound in the side of the younger man's upper right chest immediately – a rip in the fabric, skin that's no longer smooth and a whole lot of blood. While it isn't gushing, it's definitely more than oozing, and he knows Spenser is losing it faster than is safe. It's just the kid's shitty luck that the shot barely managed to miss his chest plate.

Clay yelps when he puts pressure on the wound, and Sonny apologizes as he leans him forward to feel his back. There doesn't seem to be an exit wound, which probably isn't good. He discovers the kid was also shot in the upper right arm, and that one seems to have gone straight through. Not nearly as concerning as the chest.

Sonny feels for and pulls tourniquets from both of their packs and applies one to Clay's upper arm above the damage. Clay doesn't react much, and that unsettles the gruff older man.

Next he applies one to his own leg, not sure if he's bleeding much or not. He definitely feels the band constrict, but in a dulled, dampened way. He wonders if he might be going into shock; chooses to take the lack of severe pain as a win instead. Thankful for small favors, he tries to still himself to stop the spinning in his head.

"Sonny…"

"What can I do for ya, Ken Doll?" Sonny tries to keep things light, even though inside, he's terrified.

"Feel funny. Hurts…breathe."

It sounds like it hurts. Clay's breathing is rapid and he clearly isn't getting a full breath in on each attempt. Sonny suspects a lung is collapsed – either from the bullet or the fall – but it's not really his area of expertise.

As he feels his own back start to tighten and cramp, Sonny knows he can't maintain the position he's in much longer. He's sitting awkwardly with no way to really support himself, with Clay leaning precariously against his left side. Sonny grabs all of Clay's discarded equipment – his pack and kit – along with his own, and piles them behind his back so he can lean against them, leaving him in a slightly reclined, upright position.

"Alright, I'm gonna move you over some. Probably gonna hurt."

Bracing his injured right leg as best he can, Sonny drags Clay over his left thigh to pull him between his own legs. Clay groans and pants, and yep – there's the pain in Sonny's leg. Fuck, that hurt.

He has to take a beat to let the agony subside before arranging Clay's back against his chest. In this position, he can feel every rough breath the kid takes. Once they're settled a bit, Clay is able to slow his breathing back down some and Sonny is able to put constant pressure on his chest. Cerberus moves to Clay's lap, and they wait.

And wait.

For what feels like an eternity.

###

Sonny can't hear the fighting anymore. Aside from the general hum of the jungle, all he can hear is Clay's struggled breaths and occasional groans.

His eyes have adjusted some, but all he can really see are shadows of blacks and grays.

"The guys will come," he tells the younger man, though he's starting to have doubts, not sure if he's trying to convince Spenser or himself.

What if the rest of Bravo was wiped out? He doesn't even want to think it, but they were up against quite a force. If his brothers had made it out unscathed, they surely wouldn't have continued to exfil without Sonny and Clay. They should have come to find them by now.

Sonny's leg is keeping him from moving to try to get any kind of help, and there's nothing to do but sit and wait.

Cerberus occasionally gets up and wanders off, Sonny assumes to patrol the area, but he can't be sure. After a few minutes he always comes back.

Now that the rush has faded, Sonny hurts. A lot. And he's nauseous. But the darkness is so disorienting, it's hard to really pin down the cause.

They talk some, but mostly stay quiet.

Clay starts to seem less and less coherent, his limited speech slurring and his head rolling off of Sonny's shoulder to loll forward every now and then. But each time, the angle seems to impede his breathing more and he jerks it back up.

The times he does speak clearly, Clay doesn't make a whole lot of sense – Sonny hears something about a monster truck and a watermelon. And he thinks he hears Naima's name at one point.

He knows Spenser is in a lot of pain. Can feel the kid's tears along his bare neck when Clay's face is angled in just the right way.

They both have morphine in their packs. But he's hesitant to give it to Clay, afraid that it might depress his breathing too much. The kid hasn't asked for it, and Sonny doesn't know if it's because he's afraid of the same thing or if he's too out of it to even think to ask.

And Sonny definitely isn't going to inject himself. He knows he needs to stay as clearheaded as he can.

He wishes he had more medical training. If Trent was here, he'd know what to do.

Hell, anyone else would probably be better equipped to help Clay.

"I'm sorry it's me," he says in the younger man's ear. "And not one of the other guys."

"I'm not," Clay whispers in a moment of lucidity.

Sonny's heart clenches. He just wishes he could do more.

Clay stops talking and seems to doze off after a while, which is a relief. His breathing sounds even worse – wheezing now on every inhale – but Sonny takes some comfort in knowing his brother might be getting a little bit of peace in sleep.

Sonny's unsupported neck and shoulders hurt, and he feels completely drained. The pressure he's putting on Clay's chest loosens as he begins to drift off, but he's helpless to stop it.

###

It's Cerberus whining that wakes him. And it takes him a beat to remember where he is and what's happening.

And then he realizes he doesn't hear Clay's pained breathing anymore.

"Clay?"

He shakes him.

Nothing.

"Clay!"

Cerberus gets louder, up on his feet now, and Sonny can sense him pawing at the ground.

But the Texan's attention is laser focused on Clay, who isn't making a sound.

Sonny brings a hand up to Spenser's mouth and takes a beat to feel for breath.

There's nothing.

And it's absolutely terrifying.

"No! No, no no."

He jostles him, rubs his sternum.

"Come on, Clay! You aren't doing this."

Smacks his face as best he can.

And Clay gasps on a stilted inhale. And then another.

Overwhelmed with relief, Sonny rests his forehead against the kid's mop of hair and breathes.

"You're okay. I'm here. I'm so sorry. You're okay."

Sonny holds him and listens to him breathe. It definitely sounds different now. The sharp, hitched breaths have been replaced with small gasps that are spread too far apart. There's no way he's getting the amount of air he needs, but there's nothing Sonny can do about it.

At least the bleeding has slowed significantly.

Clay seems to calm some, but he doesn't talk again.

Cerberus settles back down on their left side, but Sonny is only paying attention to Clay, counting from one labored breath to the next.

Knowing that at any moment, it might stop completely.

Sonny is really starting to feel mighty awful himself.

He's starting to get tunnel vision, a floating feeling. But he fights it. Staying awake to monitor Clay is the most important thing right now. He can't let himself fall asleep again. He'll think about everything else after they're rescued.

_If_ they're rescued.

Quiet self-reflection has never been Sonny Quinn's M.O. But sitting in the darkness of the jungle, clutching Clay in his arms, his mind wanders to places he wouldn't normally allow.

He thinks about Clay joining the team and how awful he was to him for the first six months or so. He's not above admitting to himself that a good bit of that was jealousy. The kid was so talented and even with as much shit as Jason gave the rookie, Sonny could see that their leader was enamored with their new teammate. Saw brilliance in Spenser. And that rankled Sonny. But over time, Clay more than proved himself. And became the closest of friends.

Sonny's throat lumps up at the thought of going back to the team without Clay.

Sonny has lost friends before. Teammates even. It's always been traumatic, but quick.

Never like this. This slow, painful, inevitable crawl toward death. He knows it's creeping closer and closer, and he can't do anything to stop it.

He's reminded of something Clay told him a few months ago.

It was after Sonny's close call with the torpedo tube. They were at the bar and Clay was still wallowing over Stella some and had a few beers too many. The topic of the tube came up and Sonny tried to make light of it. But Clay paled and became very serious. He admitted to Sonny that there had been a point near the end where he just wanted the tube to rapidly flood with water, killing him more quickly.

Sonny stared at him, kind of shocked and not quite comprehending. Clay said hearing him slowly die and not being able to stop it was worse.

Sonny didn't fully understand where Clay was coming from at the time, but he does now, as his friend thrashes weakly in his arms.

He knows Clay is dying. There isn't much left in the way of hope. To be honest, he's probably not all that far behind.

Sonny has his gun.

Knows he could end Clay's suffering.

His own too.

But he can't do it.

He thinks about what it would be like for the team if they found them like that.

He thinks about the cause of death that would be listed on Clay's death certificate.

About what Lisa would think of him.

And he thinks about the next of kin notification Ash would get. A notification the bastard doesn't deserve. He's not Clay's family.

_This_ is Clay's family.

Sonny

Cerberus

Their brothers

Sonny knows if he was about to die, he'd want it to be with them.

###

The sun is just starting to come up when Clay goes a bit rigid in Sonny's arms, a harsh groan turning into a whimper.

"I know, Clay. I know," Sonny soothes, grip tightening around the kid's chest. "Just try to relax. I've got you. I'm not leaving." The Texan grabs Clay's left hand and puts it on Cerberus' head. "Feel that? Cerb is here too." He feels Spenser's hand move sluggishly as he grips the dog's hair and hitches another painful gasp of air. Cerberus whines and shifts closer to the young SEAL, offering what comfort he can as he lies against Sonny's uninjured leg.

In the dim light of the new day, Sonny can finally see what he's been feeling for hours.

Clay is covered in blood. So is Cerberus, though Sonny's pretty sure it's Clay's.

The kid's hair is soaked through with sweat, and his face is deathly pale. His eyes are clenched shut and his lips hold a tinge of blue.

Sonny just holds him tighter.

###

Suddenly, Cerberus is up like a flash, sprinting up the embankment, barking his head off.

Sonny has a moment of fear that the dog is going to give their position away, but then he hears it.

Sounds like Jason's voice. Like he's hearing it through a tunnel.

He can't quite pull himself out of the fog that has enveloped his brain, but he hears muffled shouts and sees movement to his left.

"Down there!"

"Are…alive?"

"Good boy…"

"Help… get Clay"

"Shit!"

"Trent! …down here now!"

"…watch out …leg"

Sonny instinctively tightens his grip on Clay as someone tries to pull his body away.

"It's okay, Sonnyboy. It's us, brother." Ray's voice. Tense. "Let go so we can help him."

Flooded with relief, Sonny's arms fall to his sides and he lets them take the kid from his lap.

Jason comes into hazy view in front of him and grabs Sonny by the nape of the neck.

"You with me, Bravo 3?"

"Clay…"

"He's alive. Trent is working on him."

Sonny releases a sob he's been holding in all night.

"Jace, he… I tried to -"

Jason's forehead touches his own.

"It's okay. You did good, Sonny. At ease."

And Sonny finally relaxes as the darkness claims him again.


	2. Chapter 2

Jason has no idea what happened. None of them do. All he knows is that the op went horribly wrong, two of his men are missing and he's not leaving until he finds them.

He, Ray, Trent and Brock had been fully engaged with hostiles outside of the outpost, taking heavy fire. He knew Clay and Sonny had joined the fight from behind the enemy position. He'd glimpsed them across the way, seen the men they had taken out go down.

In the midst of the chaos, Cerberus was the first indication that something wasn't right.

Brock started yelling, loud enough to be heard over the firefight. Firmly chastising the dog as Cerberus strained at his lead toward the hostiles. Jason had never seen the dog disobey an order from Brock before, but Cerberus pulled so hard at the tether attached to his waist, the curly-haired man was pulled to his knees.

Ray lunged forward and unclipped the lead from the dog's harness, pulling Brock back to his feet as Cerberus took off.

Around the same time, Jason realized he no longer had eyes on Clay and Sonny. That wasn't really concerning in itself; he figured they'd moved to get better shots.

Except they never communicated a new position.

And that was definitely concerning.

But the fighting continued, and bit by bit, the four men were forced to retreat farther and farther away from the target building. It was a slow, prolonged game of cat and mouse, and they were the mice.

Now, a couple hours in, the action has stopped. They've managed to take out all of the men who pursued them – and Jason's pretty sure reinforcements from the local village joined in at some point, because the onslaught seemed never ending.

They're finally able to take up a good defensive position behind an outcropping of rocks and get their bearings.

"What the fuck, Ray?!"

Jason is momentarily stunned, realizing the outburst came from Brock. If there are three words to describe their canine handler, those words are calm, cool and collected. He's the most unfazed, level-headed man Jason has ever worked with.

"Excuse me?" Ray counters incredulously.

"What the hell did you think you were doing, unclipping him like that?"

"Saving your life!" Ray gets in the younger man's face. "He was gonna get you killed. Wasn't happening on my watch."

"That wasn't your choice to make!"

"Stop it! Now!" Jason pulls them apart. "Stow the shit, and pull it together. Both of you."

The men turn away from each other, and while tensions settle, Jason keys his radio again. "Bravo 3, Bravo 6, do you copy?"

Nothing.

Just like the nothing they've been getting since the clearing. They've heard Havoc Base trying to reach the missing men too. The silence in return is deafening.

"What do you think, Boss? Think they were taken?"

Jason looks at Ray, contemplates. "Doesn't really seem like the kind of thing this group would do, right?"

Ray tilts his head in agreement. "For both of them to be off comms though…"

None of them are going to say it out loud, but they're all thinking it. The most likely explanation is that Clay and Sonny were killed in the fight. There hadn't been a call for help, or any indication over the radio that they'd been injured.

In this world, their radios are a lifeline. Jason knows if his men had the ability, they'd be responding. Even if it was with their last breath.

The fact that they aren't? It's nothing good, and Jason has a pit in his stomach that's growing bigger by the minute.

"Bravo 1, this is Havoc," Blackburn's voice comes through. "Your orders are to go back to clear the building, take inventory of the dead and see if our HVT is among them. We don't think he would have pursued you away from the clearing."

"What about our guys?" Trent looks at their leader with disbelief.

Jason is already shaking his head.

"Negative, Havoc. We need to find 3 and 6."

"I understand your concern, Bravo 1. But you either finish the mission or you move to exfil and a recovery team will be sent in. I strongly suggest you choose option A."

He's giving them an out. They're down three team members, and if they aren't able to complete the op, there isn't an operational reason to leave a team on the ground that's shorthanded. Standard protocol would be to pull them and bring in a fresh group. Jason understands that Blackburn is giving them the chance to find their men themselves, in the only way he can.

"Good copy. Charlie mike. Bravo out."

"No! We have to go find them!" Brock insists, tension ramping up again.

"We'll find them," Ray assures the younger man, understanding what just happened. "Continuing the mission is how we do it. Gets us back to where we lost them."

Jason turns to Trent. "What do you have in your med bag?"

"Not a lot," Trent replies. "Bleeding and burn kits. Decompression kit. Gauze, pressure wraps, tape, some meds. One bag of blood and one of saline."

"K, and how are we on ammo?"

The group takes stock of what they have. They're low, but with the fighting stopped, they're willing to risk it.

"Okay boys, heads on a swivel," Jason says, as he puts Ray on point to lead what's left of his team back in the direction they came.

###

They make it back to the small compound before daylight. Along the way, they've looked for any sign of their missing men, or Cerberus, and found absolutely nothing. Which means Clay and Sonny likely never made it past the clearing.

The four remaining Bravo members quickly clear the building, knowing it's important if they're going to safely stay in the area. They're more reluctant to take the time to photograph every dead hostile, wanting to continue looking for their teammates instead. Jason orders them to do it anyway and has them transmit the photos as they go.

He knows if they aren't showing progress, they'll be pulled out.

This is the part of his job Jason can never really get used to. Being the bad guy. Making the hard decisions he doesn't want to make. Seeing the betrayed looks on his friends' faces as he keeps them from doing what they're all desperate to do.

What every bone in his own body is telling him to do.

He shoves the emotions away and his team keeps moving, finally having the chance to explore the far side of the clearing just as the sun comes up.

It's the last area any of them saw Clay and Sonny.

Now that they've lost the cover of darkness, Jason knows they won't be able to stay long. But he's determined to bring his full team home, alive or dead.

###

They hear Cerberus before they see him.

After a couple loud barks, the dog appears at the edge of a ravine in front of them and lopes their way. But before he reaches them, he turns around and runs right back down. All four men run at a full tilt after him.

Jason isn't prepared for what he sees when he looks down to the small river below.

His men.

In the water.

Covered in blood.

And they aren't moving.

Clay and Sonny are highly skilled operators, always 100% attuned to whatever situation they're in. But neither of them do anything to acknowledge the chaos as their friends start shouting and running down the incline.

Ray is the first to get to them, and he's calling for Trent before he even comes to a stop.

Now that he's closer, Jason is horrified. His ears are ringing, and his whole world narrows to the scene in front of him.

The Bravo team leader couldn't even begin to count the number of dead men he's seen in his career. He knows the look of death well.

And Clay looks like a man who has just died – pallid skin, purple lips, mouth and eyes slightly open.

Jason turns away, and in a moment of pure selfishness, all he can think is that he can't do this again. He can't bury another brother.

But then Trent is saying something about Sonny's leg, and Jason looks over just in time to see Clay take a small, hitched gasp of a breath.

That snaps him back into the moment, and as he watches Ray and Trent move Clay from Sonny's lap, he keys his radio. "Havoc, this is 1. We found them. It's bad. Need to get both out."

"Brock, up," Jason directs as he waits for a reply, and the curly haired man reluctantly climbs back up the incline with Cerberus to defend their vulnerable position.

"Copy, Bravo 1. Medevac is 10 mikes out from your exfil location."

Trent shakes his head, not looking up from where he's already working on Clay. "He's not gonna make it there. Need them here. Ray, keep him elevated until I can ease his breathing."

"Negative, Havoc. Can't get them there. Need another option."

"Copy, Bravo 1. Stand by."

Jason has made his way to Sonny, who is awake but seems to be struggling to focus on what's going on. The team leader kneels next to the man, puts himself directly in his line of sight, hand around the back of his neck to focus his attention.

"Hey, Sonny? Are you with me, Bravo 3?"

"Clay…"

"He's alive. Trent is working on him."

The sound that comes from Sonny's throat is gut-wrenching, and Jason feels his own eyes prick with tears.

"Jace, he… I tried to -"

Jason leans forward, touches the distressed Texan's forehead with his own, tries to calm him.

"It's okay. You did good, Sonny," he assures. "At ease."

Jason doesn't mean pass out, but that's what Sonny does. It's like a light is switched off and he's just gone.

When Jason pulls his hand back from Sonny's neck, his glove comes away with blood, and he palms the back of the man's head, finding a decent lump.

"He took a good knock to the head."

"Concussed?" Trent looks up from where he's working on Clay.

Jason grabs his light and roughly pries Sonny's eyes open.

"Yeah, pupils unequal."

"Wake him up, and keep him talking. Check his leg."

Blackburn's voice is back. "Bravo 1, Medevac can't land in the clearing next to your location, but they can get low enough to pull your casualties out from there. How copy?"

"Copy, Havoc, we'll get them there."

"Sitrep?"

"Havoc this is 4," Trent cuts in. "Bravo 6 has GSWs to the upper right chest and arm. Hypovolemic. Depressed respiration, no breath sounds on the right. Unresponsive. High priority. 3 has a compound fracture of the right femur, signs of concussion and is in and out of consciousness. Neither are ambulatory."

"Good copy, Bravo 4. Will share with the med team."

Jason's focus has already moved back to Sonny, and he firmly rubs the injured man's sternum. "Need you awake Sonny, come on." Sonny groans, and his eyes crack open. "There you go. Atta boy."

Jason uses his shears to cut the man's pant leg from foot to groin. Feels his ankle. "There's a pulse, but it's weak," he informs Trent.

"Hey Sonny?" Jason tries to get the addled man's attention. "Sonny! You feel this?" He squeezes the Texan's big toe.

"Mmmm."

"Yes or no answers, Quinn. Come on."

"…yeah."

"Good. Can you tell me what happened?"

"He died."

Jason looks over at the rest of his men. Ray has lowered Clay flat to the ground now, and Trent is inserting a chest tube.

"Clay's alive, Sonny. Trent is helping him."

"Before...stopped breathing."

Jason feels his heart sink to his stomach and turns to Trent.

"I heard," Trent says, barely looking up. "Find out how long."

"Sonny, how long? How long did Clay go without breathing"?

Sonny looks absolutely devastated. "Don't know…fell asleep."

Trent cuts in. "We'll deal with it later. Ray, give Clay the blood. Sonny gets the fluids and antibiotics. We need to get him out of that water, it's teeming with bacteria. Need to set and pack his leg first."

"Morphine?" Jason asks, dreading what's to come.

"Just enough to take the edge off a little," Trent replies. "Need him to stay alert."

Jason administers the opiate while Trent moves to examine Sonny's leg more closely.

Tactical field care isn't pretty. In fact, it's downright ugly. Barbaric even. The goal is to keep people alive long enough to get them to proper medical treatment. By whatever means necessary. Jason knows that. It's been drilled into him his whole career. Doesn't make it any easier to cause pain to a friend though. Even when he knows it's for their own good.

Sonny passes out again when they set his leg, and they let him stay that way while they move him out of the water.

Jason has a harder time rousing him this time, and when the Texan does come around, he does it with a moan and a "Fuck you."

"Yeah, I know" Jason replies, hating himself a little bit.

The next few minutes are ordered chaos. Under Trent's guidance, they manage to get both men up the slope to the clearing and prepared for transport. Clay's color looks a tad better and Sonny manages to stay awake as they secure the men onto stretchers and watch as they're pulled to the helicopter hovering above.

As the bird moves out of sight, Jason turns to the remaining members of his team. They look worn, tired. _Worried_. He is too, but until they're out of this hellhole, he has a job to do.

"Okay, boys. No rest for the weary. Let's head out." He keys his radio. "Havoc, this is 1. Moving to exfil."

"Copy, Bravo 1."

And they begin the three-klick hike back to where the awful night began.

###

As much as Ray would like to stay with Sonny and Clay, that's not how the Navy works.

The four uninjured members of Bravo are debriefed for several hours and put on a plane to be sent back to the states without seeing their fallen men. Blackburn stays behind, and before they take off, they learn that Clay is in emergency surgery at a friendly local hospital. Sonny has been deemed stable enough for a med flight to Virginia and is already on his way. He'll have surgery on his leg when he arrives.

When Ray gets home, the house is quiet. It's late, and he tries not to make noise as he lets himself in, not wanting to wake Naima and the kids.

He knows he won't be able to sleep, so he sits on the couch, intending to distract himself with the TV for a bit. But he never turns it on, his mind still replaying the day's events.

When Cerberus appeared and led them to the river, what they found was a horror show.

Having one man go down is rough. But two? That hasn't happened since Ray's been on the team. Nothing this bad at least.

It's a jolt to his system. A reminder of the constant danger they're in every time they go out there.

He picks at his fingernails. No matter how much he washes, there are still bits of dried blood trapped underneath. He knows the blood is Clay's, and the thought turns his stomach.

Ray was sure Clay was dead. The only reason he knew Sonny wasn't was the tight grip the older man had around the younger man's chest.

Seeing the haunted look on Sonny's face, pulling a limp Clay from his arms, sitting and holding the kid while Trent worked on him, getting them to the helicopter – all of it was terrifying. Every moment, Ray was afraid the younger man was going to die in front of him.

And the whole thing had only lasted about 15 minutes.

Sonny had been with Clay for _hours_. Ray can't even imagine what the Texan was going through in that time.

The image of his brothers in that state is something Ray's not going to be able to get out of his head for a long time. It's seared to the inside of his eyelids.

"Hey, didn't hear you come in." Naima pulls him from his thoughts as she comes into the living room, sits down next to him.

"Everyone okay?" That's her first question every time he comes home.

Ray tries to answer, but his voice is stuck behind the lump in his throat, so he just shakes his head.

He feels her tense, but she doesn't push.

Naima is a rock. Ray isn't sure what he'd do without her. He probably tells her more than he should about his work, their spin ups. But he figures it's like therapy, having someone to talk to who isn't in the middle of it with him. And it helps him more than she'll ever know.

He clears his throat. "Uh, it's Sonny and Clay. They're pretty bad." He turns his head toward her, but can't bring himself to make eye contact. "Not sure Clay's gonna make it, Naima."

She rubs his back.

They sit in the quiet for several minutes while Ray tries to compose himself.

Naima finally breaks the silence. "Where do you need to be right now?"

Ray looks at her.

He's always made it a priority to be home with the family as soon as he's back from an op. Even if Sonny tries to drag him to the bar or Jason wants to play some hockey, he always spends whatever time is left of the day with Naima and the kids instead.

Looking in her eyes now, he doesn't see an ounce of judgement.

"Go. Be with him," she says. "Let me know what I can do."

###

When he pulls up in front of Jason's house, Ray sees his best friend sitting on the porch, exactly where he knew he'd be. Leg bouncing compulsively, beer in hand and staring at nothing.

Ray approaches without saying anything. He settles into the chair next to his friend and watches the fireflies in the yard.

"Naima and the kids okay?"

"Yeah. Emma and Mikey?

"Asleep."

Ray's thankful that their families are safe; mostly oblivious to the nightmares they see all over the world.

That's why they do what they do.

"Neither of them have this, you know?" he asks. "A family to come home to. "

"I know," Jason sighs. "But they have us."

"Of course," Ray nods. "Not the same, though. When we're out there, it's good to have something back home to fight for."

Jason just nods, and they settle back into the quiet.

Ray sees that Jason is rubbing his right thigh, a familiar tic he hasn't seen in a while.

"Not sure I can do it anymore, Ray."

Ray's not sure if he means the pressures of the job, leaving the kids or the trauma of watching his brothers suffer. Probably all three. It's been a rough couple of years – Nate, Echo team, the helicopter crash, Alana, Adam, the sub in Korea.

Now this.

Jason has been spiraling for a while, and Ray wonders if this might finally be the proverbial straw that breaks his back.

"Do you think about getting out?" he questions.

"All the time," Jason doesn't even take a beat.

Ray looks down, nods.

Jason rubs his eyes, sighs. "But as long as you're out there? The boys? I can't be here. Tried it once, didn't work. Learned my lesson with Adam."

Jason Hayes is a control freak. It's somehow his best and worst quality at the same time. Ray watches him beat himself up after every op that doesn't go perfectly, pore over every little detail. Things he could have done differently.

The man's ability to compartmentalize on mission – make the tough decisions – is unmatched by any other operator Ray has worked with.

But after? It all seems to come crashing in on him.

"What happened to Adam wasn't your fault," Ray stresses. "Sonny and Clay? Not your fault. We were doing our jobs. It's dangerous, and shit happens."

"When they follow me blindly and shit happens? How is that not on me?"

"That's bullshit, Jace, and you know it!"

Ray tries to lower his volume. "It's not blind loyalty. It's trust. And you've _earned_ it. From all of us.

Jason scoffs and turns away.

"No, you listen to me," Ray puts force behind his words. "Every decision you made out there today was the right one. There just weren't any good ones to be made."

He pins Jason with his eyes. "Those boys know what they signed up for. It sucks, brother, it does. But you can't let it eat you up like this. Doesn't lead to anything good, understand me? We got them out, and they're alive. All we can ask for right now."

Jason doesn't argue, which Ray knows means he begrudgingly agrees.

They sit in the quiet for long minutes until Jason breaks the silence again.

"I thought Spenser was dead."

"Yeah, me too."

"What Sonny said about him not breathing? What if it was too long, Ray?"

"Hey, stop. We're not gonna worry about that right now. One step at a time."

Jason nods.

"I think Sonny's gonna have a hard time with this."

Ray sighs. "Probably."

They're interrupted by Jason's cell, and Ray has just enough time to see Blackburn's name flash across the screen before Jason is on his feet and connecting the call. "Eric?"

Ray watches his face as he paces, only picking up little bits of the conversation.

When he hangs up, Jason just stares into space, a crease between his brows.

Ray's afraid to ask. "Clay?"

"Made it through surgery. They won't try to bring him back to the states until tomorrow. Doctors think he'll be okay, physically at least. Won't know about his mental capacity until he wakes up."

Ray nods, relieved.

But Jason doesn't look relieved.

He looks scared.

"What, Jay?"

"It's Sonny. He spiked a fever."


	3. Chapter 3

Brock makes the now familiar trek from the hospital parking lot up to the ICU.

When he reaches Clay's room, he finds Ray and Trent sitting in the two padded chairs next to the bed. They look up when he enters and nod in greeting.

The men look tired. He imagines he probably does too. It's been a stressful and exhausting couple of days.

They've all been taking turns sitting with Sonny and Clay, not really wanting either of them to be alone. In a way, it's like taking shifts on watch during a mission, but also very different.

So much worse.

Brock leans against the wall. "Is Jason here?"

"He's in with Sonny," Ray answers. "Thought it was best to give him some time alone."

"How's he doing?"

"Sonny or the boss?" Trent asks.

"Both, I guess?"

"You know Jay," Ray sighs. "Weight of the world and all."

He does know. Jason's been trying to put on a stoic façade, but they can all see how wrecked he is. Brock can't remember a time he's seen the man quite so undone.

He remembers when he was selected for Bravo. The moment he realized he was going to work with the great Jason Hayes, who he had revered from afar. He thought the man was invincible.

But he isn't invincible. Jason is just as vulnerable, as human, as the rest of them. Shares the same fear and pain – but also pride and sense of accomplishment – that comes with their work. And that makes all he's achieved so much more special.

Brock has an incredible amount of respect for their leader. Has learned more from him than he ever could have anticipated. Not just about mission tactics, but also about the way you motivate and care for the people under your command.

Bravo team is a true brotherhood, and that starts with Bravo 1.

It's why they're all here now, rallying around their fallen men.

"And Sonny?" he directs to Trent.

The man just shakes his head, sighs.

Brock's gut clenches. Sonny's situation isn't good. His condition has steadily been going downhill for the last 48 hours. And they're all starting to feel desperate.

Brock tries to shake away the gloom, focus on the positive.

"How's sleeping beauty doing?" he asks, nodding toward the bed. "His color looks better."

"Much more active," Trent replies, looking at Clay. "He was kind of awake for a bit earlier. Managed a few sips of water, talked some. Nothing that really made sense, but I'll take it."

"Didn't make sense? Do you think…?"

"I think it's just that he's still coming out of it," Trent cuts in with a reassuring tone. "I really do think he's gonna be okay, Brock. There isn't anything so far to indicate that there will be lasting damage."

Brock is still having a hard time believing that can be true. Clay was in such rough shape when they found him, he knows he isn't going to be able to rest easy until his teammate is completely alert and talking to them again.

Ray stands up, stretches. "I'm gonna check in with Jace and then head out, spend some time with the family. Keep me updated?"

"Of course," Brock assures, taking his vacated chair.

Trent also excuses himself after a few minutes, planning to grab some food and check back in on Sonny.

And Brock settles in to watch over their youngest team member.

###

Brock grew up in what most people would describe as the country. Not on an actual farm, but his family had a nice big plot of land, and his afternoons and summers were spent playing outside. Roughhousing with his friends and running with the dogs. Completely carefree.

He excelled on the swim team at school and even landed the role of Curly in the high school's production of _Oklahoma!_ his junior year.

The youngest of four kids – and the only boy – Brock was doted on by his parents and his sisters. Family was at the core of everything they did. Dinner together on Saturday nights, church on Sundays and supporting each other at extracurricular activities during the week.

It was an all-American, apple-pie upbringing.

And Brock was completely oblivious to everything that happened outside of his idyllic bubble.

It wasn't until he went away to college, and one of his roommates had an older brother serving in Afghanistan, that he ever even considered enlisting in the military.

But as soon as he set his mind on that path, he was all in.

And he loves it. Feels like he has a true purpose. Like he's making a real, genuine difference in the world.

This part though?

This part sucks.

During his training, Brock always heard guys talk about how the teams are families. He didn't truly understand what that meant until he ended up with Bravo, but it's true.

Seeing Sonny and Clay hurt? The endless, gnawing worry that goes along with that? It's exactly the same as it would be if it was his sisters in these beds.

Brock knows how blessed he is to have two families that love and support him unconditionally. He'd give his own life for any one of them, and he knows they'd do the same.

He thinks about his parents. Knows how proud they are of him, but he also knows his job really scares them. To this day, every time they hear about a service member being killed, they call. Doesn't matter which branch or rank or where it happened. They can't breathe easy until they hear his voice. And when he's visiting with them and it's time to say goodbye, their hugs always last a little too long, like they're savoring it in case it's the last one.

As he sits at Clay's bedside, Brock can't help but be struck by the lack of actual family present. How different their paths have been to this point. He knows if it was him in that bed, his family would be camped out in his room, praying and hoping for him to get better.

Ash Spenser has come by twice, but he didn't stay for any significant time. Just kind of checked in and moved on. Brock can't decide if he's offended on Clay's behalf or if he's glad the man isn't sticking around. He doesn't know the details of what's gone on in their past – what Clay's childhood was like – but he does know the relationship is toxic for his friend.

Clay shifts on the bed, catching Brock's attention.

He leans forward. "Clay? You hear me, man?"

More movement, but he doesn't seem to be waking.

It's been two days since Clay was brought back to Virginia. He arrived heavily sedated and on a ventilator, to give his lungs and chest some time to start healing. It was tough seeing him like that, but he's been improving steadily. He's breathing on his own now, and the doctors have finally started to lessen the sedation, opening the door for him to wake up in his own time.

So now they're just waiting.

Clay's improvement is a huge relief, it is. But it feels like for every step forward Clay takes, Sonny takes one back. Logically, Brock knows they aren't connected in that way. But he can't help but think that for every little bit of Clay they get back, they lose a piece of Sonny.

"Brock?" Clay's voice, sounding like he's speaking through gravel, pulls him from his thoughts.

"Yeah," Brock jumps up. "Hey, man."

"Wha?" Clay's throat sounds raw.

"Hang on. Don't talk yet." Brock pours some water into the cup by the bed and grabs a straw.

"Take small sips," he instructs, as he helps Clay drink.

When he realizes Clay is staying awake and seems to be aware, Brock shoots a text to the rest of the team.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I got shot?" Clay scratches out.

"Yeah, sounds about right," Brock chuckles.

"Where…?"

"We're in Virginia. You came back a couple days ago. It's good to see you awake, buddy. You gave us a good scare for a while there."

Clay nods slightly, grimaces.

The amount of relief Brock feels that Clay is coherent and seems to know who Brock is and what happened is immeasurable. It has to be a good sign.

"What do you remember?"

Clay's brow furrows, and he takes a minute before he answers.

"Getting hit. Falling."

"Anything after that?"

Clay shakes his head, but then says "Pain, fear…"

A look of confusion and then, "Cerberus?"

"Yeah," Brock laughs. "He was there. Nearly got me killed trying to get to you."

And Brock hasn't quite been able to wrap his head around what that means yet; what Cerberus did out there. Bottom line, it wasn't okay. The dog disobeyed commands - direct orders - and at an incredibly high-stakes, critical moment. As much as Brock loves his canine partner, Cerberus is a tool for them, an important one, and he needs to be reliable 100% of the time. Brock appreciates the bond the dog has with the team, and is grateful for his part in rescuing Sonny and Clay, but the experience has left him shaken. And he wonders if he'll be able to fully trust Cerb the next time they're out on a mission.

"Mostly just remember Sonny," Clay continues, pulling him back to the present. "He around?"

Brock's stomach lurches, and he looks away.

"Brock?"

Brock knows Clay is a no-nonsense kind of guy. That he needs to just tell him. Rip the band aid off.

"Sonny's down the hall," he says tentatively.

"And?"

"Clay, he's in rough shape. Infection set in, and he's septic."

"Wait, what?" Clay shifts to sit up, groans.

Brock moves forward, puts his hand on the younger man's uninjured shoulder to gently hold him down.

"What happened to him?"

"He broke his leg. Think you guys spent a lot of time sitting in the river out there, which the village upstream basically uses as a sewer, so the infection isn't all that surprising really. But it spread awfully fast."

Clay has lost some of the color he'd regained in his face.

"God, Brock," he rasps. "I'm not sure I really even knew he was hurt. I just kind of remember him being there, helping me, you know?

"He did help you. Kept you alive until we could get to you."

"Hey! Look who decided to join the land of the living," Trent loudly interrupts as he comes back into the room. His eyes pass over the monitors behind Clay's bed, and he looks pleased.

"How are you feeling?" he asks the younger man.

"I'm good," Clay brushes off the question. "Trent, what's going on with Sonny? How bad is it?"

Trent shifts his eyes to Brock and all Brock can do is shrug. He can see the moment Trent resigns himself to being truthful.

"Uh, he still has his leg, for now, but the infection spread to his bloodstream pretty quickly. The doctors are concerned about organ failure," Trent says. "They're doing everything they can. Give him a 50/50 chance."

"Fuck," Clay looks shell shocked.

"Yeah. Jason is in with him now. But Sonny hasn't been awake since we got here."

They're quiet for long moments until Clay painfully clears his throat.

"I know this isn't really my fault, but I can't help feeling like it is."

"What do you mean?" Trent asks.

"Sonny. I don't remember much about what happened, but I do remember knocking into him. Falling with him down to the river. Had to be when he broke his leg. If I'd only missed him, he wouldn't be here."

"Thinking like that isn't going to help him," Brock says, not wanting to let that train of thought fester. "You got shot, Clay. Nothing you could have done to change things. It's just bad luck."

Trent jumps in. "And if he hadn't been there with you, you'd be dead. One hundred percent."

Clay still looks uneasy, and he's starting to look more worn.

"Alright, time for you to get some rest," Trent declares. "I'm gonna ask if they'll up your pain meds now that you're back with us. Should help you get some good sleep too."

"I'm okay," Clay huffs. "Really."

"You're not," Trent replies. "I can tell."

Even Brock can see that Clay's uncomfortable. There's a tightness around his eyes and mouth, and his body is tense. Fingers gripped too tightly in the sheet.

"Clay, toughing it out isn't gonna make you heal any faster," Trent insists. "The opposite actually. Feeling pain isn't a weakness."

"Okay, fine. Maybe I feel like I got hit by a truck."

Brock winces, but Trent laughs. "There you go, right answer. You need to let your body heal. Fighting the pain isn't going to let it do that." And he heads out the door to find the doctor.

###

The next few days are the longest of Clay's life.

He dutifully rests and hydrates, meets with the hospital's respiratory therapist each morning and afternoon, and works on the breathing exercises she gives him.

As dangerous as his job is, this is actually the first time he's been seriously injured. And he's come to the realization that he just isn't cut out for being confined to one place like this. As he's started feeling better, he's gotten restless.

And now he's just going stir crazy.

The team has been great about keeping him company. He's watched movies with Davis and played poker with Ray and Trent. Even Blackburn joined in for a round. Jason dragged Mikey over after school one day for some high-intensity games of Battleship. And Brock even managed to sweet talk the staff into letting Cerberus visit for a few hours.

Jason has been the most distant. Clay doesn't take it personally. He knows the older man is having a hard time with everything. But he still manages to stop by regularly to shoot the shit, tries to make jokes.

They're all working to keep Clay in good spirits, motivating him to get better.

But the biggest motivation? That's Sonny.

The nurses had Clay up and walking the day after he woke up, and he's been using the laps around the floor as an excuse to visit Sonny. They only let him stay for about 15 minutes each time, but he'll take what he can get.

It's been scary. Clay has never seen so many tubes, wires, machines and monitors attached to another human being in his life. Sonny's freckles are stark on his pale skin, and his eyes are shadowed and sunken. The way his chest moves with the forced, artificial breaths just looks wrong, robotic. Doctors and nurses come in constantly to check things, which just hammers home to Clay how dire Sonny's situation is.

###

Late on the afternoon of the third day, Ray and Trent come to Clay's room and he knows as soon as he looks at them that something is very wrong. They tell him Sonny's had a seizure. That his temperature is dangerously high, his blood pressure is dangerously low, and they don't know if he's going to make it through the night.

It's a shock. Things have obviously been bad, but to think that they're all going to sit around as Sonny dies, not able to help him in any way? It's the worst kind of déjà vu imaginable.

When Clay enters the dimly lit room down the hall, Jason is sitting by the bed. One hand is slowly carding through Sonny's hair and the other is gently gripping the man's forearm, thumb rubbing in a soothing motion. It's an oddly intimate scene, and Clay doesn't want to intrude. But before he has a chance to move away, Jason looks up.

"Hey, come on in," the older man says, leaning back in his seat.

Clay quietly takes the other chair, looks at his leader. He knows he's looking for some kind of signal of what they're supposed to do now. But Jason's in the same helpless position as the rest of them.

"It's funny how life just goes on, huh?" Jason asks. "We come home from a mission gone bad, and outside of these walls, it's like it didn't even happen. People get up and go to work, pick up groceries, go about their days. They have no idea a hero is in here fighting for his life."

Clay swallows thickly. "But that's the whole idea, right?" he counters. "The way it should be? People living life."

Jason nods, and they settle into the quiet, keeping vigil over their friend.

Clay is unnerved by how still Jason is. Usually, the man gives off an almost frenetic energy, constantly in motion. He's a pacer, and if he's not pacing, he's fidgeting, playing with a pen or a ball, bouncing a leg, you name it. But right now, he's just still. And quiet.

"He's hanging in there," Jason finally says, smiling fondly at the man in the bed. "He's one stubborn son of a bitch, that's for sure."

"Understatement," Clay chuckles softly, remembering his first interactions with Sonny. "When I joined the team, I didn't think he was ever gonna be okay with me being there. If I said the sky was blue, he was gonna find a way to prove it wasn't."

Jason smirks. "Yeah, he wasn't exactly subtle, was he? And you had an ego a mile wide. You two were like oil and water." He pauses. "Think he wanted to make sure you were in it for the right reasons, not gonna get us killed. I knew you'd work it out eventually."

"I never said thank you, by the way," Clay says. "For drafting me. I know I was pretty rough around the edges. But I'd never had this, didn't know it was something I _could_ have. The camaraderie…the family," he finishes quietly.

"I know," Jason acknowledges. "Knew then too, and knew we were what you needed."

Clay looks down, picks at the strap on his sling.

"But Clay, I didn't do it for you. I picked you because it was the best choice for the team. For him," he emphasizes, gesturing to Sonny. "For the others. And for me. You were the best."

Hearing that from Jason makes his chest swell with pride, and he appreciates that they're speaking so openly. "Thanks, Boss."

"You're a damn good operator, kid. And some day you're going to be a fantastic team leader."

Jason looks back to Sonny. "Not sure I've told him enough how much I appreciate him. How grateful I am to have him on the team. Have I been too hard on him? On all of you? Too much of a hard ass?"

"Jason, stop," Clay cuts off the rambling. "Sonny adores you. We all do. This team works because of the way you run it."

Clay takes a beat, continues. "Remember what he said on the sub? That operating with you was the greatest honor of his life? I'm telling you, that's true for all of us."

Jason squeezes his eyes shut. "How does any of this make sense? We get him back from that only to lose him like this?"

Clay doesn't have an answer for that. Doesn't think he's supposed to.

"He's our heart, you know?" Jason shakily lets out. "Sure, he's all gruff and tough on the outside, but I think he's the most vulnerable of us all."

Clay thinks that's probably true. Sonny feels too deeply, uses his brashness as a shield. The Texan is definitely good at butting heads, can be ornery and obnoxious and just downright infuriating. But once you chip away at that tough exterior, he's generous, kind and humble. Loyal to a fault. He would do anything for any one of them.

And he's quickly becoming the best friend Clay has ever had.

This isn't the way it's going to end.

"He's gonna to be okay, Jace. I can feel it."

###

Sonny does make it through the night and then through the next afternoon, and to everyone's immense relief, he improves just as quickly as he went downhill days before.

When Clay hears that he's actually awake and talking, he cuts his therapy session short and heads straight back to his friend's room.

When he arrives, he sees that the man's eyes are open, and it's like someone has just removed a 50 pound weight from his shoulders.

"Hey, old man," he says, as he approaches the bed, takes a seat.

Sonny chuckles hoarsely, and Clay can't help the smile that spreads across his face. It's the best sound in the world, hearing that laugh again.

"Ehh, knew I should have just gone to the nice white light," Sonny rasps. "Wouldn't have to see your ugly mug."

Clay's gut clenches. "That's not funny, Sonny."

"Come on now, sure it is."

Clay looks away. It's too fresh, the fear of losing his friend. He isn't ready to joke with him yet.

"Too soon?" Sonny cracks a grin.

Clay's being stupid. He knows humor is how Sonny copes with uncomfortable situations and he wants to be able to give him that comfort.

"Hey, Clay?" Sonny asks. "You good?"

"Thanks to you," Clay smiles. "You saved my life, man."

"Nah, the pup saved your life."

"Sonny, come on," he huffs, exasperated.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Blondie. Is this the part where we're supposed to cry and talk about our feelings?"

"Shut up," Clay laughs. "I'm glad you're back."

"Yeah, me too. And seeing that you're up and moving while I'm stuck like this? Gotta say, that doesn't seem very fair, considering how things were last time I saw you."

He's still joking, but Clay can see the depth of relief in Sonny's eyes.

"Yeah, guess you ended up with the short straw for this one, huh?"

"Mmmm," Sonny hums, closing his eyes.

It's quiet for a few minutes and Clay thinks Sonny may have fallen asleep, but then he looks at Clay again.

"Hey, Spenser, what do you remember?"

Clay doesn't have to ask what he's referring to. "Bits and pieces. Not a lot."

"Good," Sonny lets out on a sigh. "That's good."

"You?" Clay counters.

"Every damn minute of it," Sonny says, with pain in his eyes. "Never been so scared in my life."

"I'm sorry." Clay's not really sure what he's apologizing for. He understands it wasn't his fault. Figures he's just sorry the whole thing happened at all.

"Clay, you were so close to dying," Sonny let's out in a choked voice. "I was fucking terrified that you would and that I'd be left there alone with your body." He takes a shuddering breath, stares through to Clay's soul. "Don't you ever do something like that to me again."

Clay can only nod, rocked by the emotion in his friend's eyes. The experience clearly had a profound effect on Sonny.

They sit quietly with each other until Clay notices Sonny's eyelids are starting to droop, his body going lax.

He's clearly fighting the pull of sleep, but it's a losing battle.

"Rest easy, buddy," Clay says, putting a hand on Sonny's shoulder. "Just try to relax. I'm not leaving. I'll be here when you wake up."

* * *

**Thanks for reading! This was the very first story I ever wrote, nearly a year ago. It's been a journey since, but this one is still special to me.**


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